


Elemental Fury

by Zaniida



Series: Exile Ain't No Vacation [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Exhaustion (#23), Extreme Weather (#27), Gen, Heat Exhaustion (#14), Hypothermia (#21), Many other whump tags, Pagefic Chapters, Whumptober 2020, a terrible horrible no good very bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/pseuds/Zaniida
Summary: When Thor gets banished to Earth, he doesn't find a three-day vacation and a handy girlfriend.Rather, he gets a painful introduction to the perils of being a mortal exposed to the elements.
Series: Exile Ain't No Vacation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983865
Comments: 15
Kudos: 13
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loxxlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxxlay/gifts).



> Content Warnings (Whump Tags) in **End Note**. I manage a total of 17 prompts within four pages -- pretty sweet!
> 
>  **Loxxlay** , I hear you were hoping for some [Thorwhump](https://loxxxlay.tumblr.com/post/179000220539/am-still-sad-that-so-few-ppl-like-thor-whump-but)?
> 
> This is meant to be the start of a series; I have no idea how quickly I'll update, but I do have the next two chapters written and part of the fourth; I had hoped to complete the entire fic before posting, but I got to a point where I was like "Nope, I have to post the thing, and then I'll get back to work on the other part."
> 
> At first, I wasn't sure how to do this piece, other than throw random crud at him, but then I hit upon a couple of archetypal symbols and then I was like "hell yeah, this is exactly what I need for grinding Thor down and remaking him, as was _supposed_ to be his character arc in the first film and/or the franchise in general." So here we are, starting with the classical elements because why not. All you whump-lovers, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrown to Earth, Thor finds himself at the mercy of the elements. But he's survived worse, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor is about to have the worst day of his life. There will be pain, exhaustion, and physical damage, as well as emotional effects; he ends this fic in a pretty bad state, though none of the effects are permanent. For more specific content warnings, check the end note.

_You are_ **_unworthy!_**

The words ring through his head as Thor groans, blinking up at the unforgiving sun. Unworthy? For trying to defend his people? The rage at this injustice boils up within him as he rolls over and stumbles to his feet, his body unexpectedly aching.

Around him are dry, sunbaked hills; the heat reminds him of Muspelheim, though it’s somehow more oppressive, beating down on his shoulders, the earth reflecting it up through his boots. There’s nothing here but scraggly shrubs, patches of dry grass… and the pattern of the Bifrost.

For a while he shouts his protest up at the sky, but there’s no answer; even if Heimdall is back to his post, he’s evidently been commanded to leave Thor where he stands.

In exile.

When it’s clear that staying is pointless, Thor stomps off in a random direction. There’s nothing of interest, nothing to aim for—even the sun is directly overhead, offering no guidance. He’s bruised and battered in a way that feels unfamiliar; his rowdiest adventures in Nidavellir never left him in this much pain. Was the battle truly so intense? He can barely recall the Jotnar landing a blow; he’d been too focused on letting the rage sing through him to find its targets in every direction.

As he walks, he wonders how long before his father relents and brings him home. Odin is not known for changing his mind, but then, he _has_ gotten soft over the centuries. And what was Thor’s crime, truly? Showing the Jotuns that they could not challenge Asgard with impunity? Even Laufey, at the end, chose war over complacency. In time, Odin will realize the truth.

Hours later, the sun still far from the horizon, he’s sweaty, stinking, stiff, his skin red and papery, hot to the touch. Through scratchy, blurry eyes, it seems like the light has gotten brighter, even less bearable. His head feels baked; hoping for some relief, he pulls off his shirt and tries to bind it about his head, but his fingers are puffy and hard to maneuver. Finally he simply leaves his shirt lying across head and shoulders and trudges on, pushing through the cramps in his legs and belly, the rage still fueling his steps as he cycles endlessly through the last words his father ever yelled at him.

The scarce plant life has turned to the aftermath of a fire, all burnt wood and ashes, here and there the dusty bones of some animal or another. When he checks the sun again, he sees birds circling—scavengers. _I won’t be dying today_ , he wants to shout at them, but his throat is too parched to let him form the words; by this point, each breath is agony.

_(Two other birds watch him: two large ravens. They do not get close, and his eyes are blurry enough that he cannot be sure, but he thinks perhaps his father’s eyes are on him, even here.)_

When he stumbles down to the dirt to vomit, it just intensifies the pain, one more indignity added to the rest. He’s never wanted water this bad in his _life_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings** : Besides the general whump prompts, the end of the first chapter has a short mention of Thor throwing up (no detail). Any other warnings not on this whump list should get pointed out in the chapter notes.
> 
>  **Chapter One:** Abandoned (prompt #8), Defiance (#11), Heat Exhaustion (#14), Blurred Vision (#25)
> 
>  **Chapter Two:** Water (alt #12), Can't Breathe (#13), Punctured (alt #1), Exhaustion (#23), Hypothermia (#21)
> 
>  **Chapter Three:** Blood Loss (#10), Falling (alt #2), Panic (#18), Disorientation (#25), Broken Bones (#12)
> 
>  **Chapter Four:** Lost (#20), Extreme Weather (#27), Ignoring an Injury (#30), Hallucinations (#16)
> 
> So that works out to Prompts 8, 10-14, 16, 18, 20-21, 23, 25 (twice!), 27, 30, plus Alts 1-2 and 12, which is half the month in one short fic!


	2. Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having survived the wrath of the sun, Thor now finds himself at the mercy of the rain -- though mercy doesn't seem to be in the cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two! Content warnings in the end note, as usual. How much more can I throw at Thor before he finally gives in?

_I was a fool to think you were ready_.

Even now, as the shadows grow long, the small hills offer little relief from the heat. But at least the dirt in the gully is more densely packed, and it’s slightly easier to keep moving. As tired as he’s getting, he can’t stay put: the need for water has become all-consuming.

His foul mood should have been more than enough to call the storms and douse him enough to undo the sun’s mischief. As if to remind him that his powers have been stolen away, he sees the clouds roll in over the horizon, the air getting fuzzy with rain too far away to help.

As he’s trudging along the gully, hemmed in by steep walls, there’s a sudden rushing _roar_ ahead. Though weaponless, Thor braces himself for an almost welcome combat—right before a giant wall of moving dirt bursts around the corner, crashing into the wall and then turning, heading straight for him.

It sweeps him off his feet and pulls him under: Not dirt but a _flood_ , and the shock of the cold makes him gasp in a lungful of filthy water. He’s pummeled by sticks and rocks, tumbled until he cannot tell up from down; his body seizes up, his limbs refusing to obey, and there’s nothing around him but darkness and cold and movement he cannot control. His lungs burn with the sudden, unexpected need for air.

Frantic, he struggles to reach the surface, feeling fear clutch at his heart for the first time. He’s mortal now, and mortals can die. Would his father actually let him die? Over _Jotunheim_?

Then he strikes something _hard_ , and pain lances through his gut as the current keeps him pressed there. He tries to move, to turn, but he’s stuck: something stiff and jagged juts into his belly, out of his back. A… branch? He’s pinned to a tree, pinned deep under the flood.

Fighting the current to push himself free nearly does him in, but then he’s dragging himself up along the trunk until his head bursts free of the water. Only he can’t draw breath: His lungs are too clogged. He coughs it up, splutters out enough water to find air again, precious air.

Too dazed to do much more than cling to his salvation, he keeps clearing his lungs until he’s breathing again almost normally, except that his lungs hurt worse than before. There’s grit in his teeth, fire in his gut, and he’s shaking, shivering, like all the heat got stripped from his body, swept away by the muddy flow around him. His arms feel heavy, sapped of strength.

Something large but squishy crashes into him. He brushes his face free of the water only to find more dripping down into his eyes, but he manages to catch a glimpse of the staring eyes of some kind of animal, its body broken long before it got to him. He shoves it away, and the flood takes it onward, out of his sight.

“Heimdall,” he croaks. “Heimdall!”

There’s no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** Yeah, Thor's lungs are taking a beating here. Also, he gets speared through the gut with a branch. Oh, and there's mention of a dead animal, presumably killed by the flood. Expect a lot of death imagery in this fic.


	3. Muck Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite the Swamp of Sadness, more realistic than the Fire Swamp, but still, not a fun place to be trudging through when you can't even see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What more can I throw at our dear boy?

_You’ve forgotten everything I taught you_.

When finally the water drains away, Thor musters enough strength to climb down, every tense movement pulling at the wound in his gut. He shivers uncontrollably; his shirt is gone, his pants and boots soaked through. The sun has long vanished, leaving not even a moon to guide his steps, and he hates this new reminder of his body’s limitations—this blindness in the night.

As he tries to find his way out of the treacherous canyon, he stumbles repeatedly on the uneven ground, crashing into hard things and pokey things, spines that shred his clothes and tear at his flesh. Insects besiege him, but he soon learns that it’s less painful to let them feed than to slap his own sun-fried skin. Exhaustion eats away at his reserves, and only his stubborn nature pushes him on: He refuses to bed down for the night in a place he cannot see.

The air becomes thick and musty, reeking of decay; the ground squelches beneath his feet. Soon enough his steps begin to slip, jarring his aching back each time he manages to keep his footing; often enough, he falls, landing on butt or hip or knees, adding to the bruises, although the growing numbness of his flesh reduces the pain to an almost bearable level.

Before long, the mud is up to his ankles, then halfway up his calves, then over his knees. Then his next step sends him _plunging_ into a deeper pit, his shoulder striking something hard as he falls; he panics, flailing to free his feet from the mire, to get out of the water, clawing at his face to remove the gunk and free his airway, gasping in frantic gulps of sulfurous air.

Though he gropes his way back to solid ground, he’s disoriented; there’s no telling which way he was facing, which way to go. On hands and knees, half-submerged, he stays there, frozen, panting; it feels like being weaponless, surrounded by invisible enemies. They taunt him.

When he tries to rise, he crumples again; his right shoulder will not support his weight, and even the slightest pressure sends fiery arcs of pain along his arm.

Sinking to a seat in the repulsive muck, he shivers, soaked through. Every inch of him is covered in filth, and there’s gunk in his ears, grit in his teeth. His hair hangs heavily, sticking to his skin. His skin is numb; his _bones_ ache. The hole in his midsection is the only point of warmth on his entire body, and if he breathes too deeply, there’s a stabbing pain in his lung.

Hardship is familiar to him, surely; he’s adventured across the Nine Realms and tasted of their many dangers. But he’s never had to deal with them while in a mortal body, prone to weariness and injury, damaged by sunlight and sapped of energy by water and mud and air. Nor has he ever been alone on his journey, or faced with the awareness that he cannot simply call for aid.

Eventually, he manages to get to his feet, and moves on heavily, his steps shorter and more cautious. The world around him spins, and he struggles to keep his feet, to keep _moving_.

Almost, he feels like crying. But he’s too dry for tears, and too exhausted to bother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** Insects (probably more than just mosquitos, but it's nonspecific). Treading through unfamiliar and treacherous landscapes while effectively blind. Slipping into a mud pit and frantically trying to get free. He's just generally not having a good time.
> 
> Incidentally, I vaguely tried to figure out a timeline for how long it takes some of these conditions to (a) have noticeable symptoms and (b) actually make you non-functional, then went "eh, screw it: it's Whump" and decided not to care. So these conditions will worsen at the speed of Plot, and this is not because Thor retains any superhuman constitution or healing properties ^_^


	4. Whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the wind gets to have its way with him. I'm sure he's much comforted because it's only air, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in End Note. Here's the last leg of this piece; any guesses what the final indignity will be?

_I, Odin Allfather,_ **_cast you out!_**

As the night wears on, the wind picks up, unrelenting, battering him with sand and small objects. Eyes shut, he lumbers on, finding his way to the edge of the mire and out to firm footing again, some sort of flat plain. Despite the wind it feels like he can’t quite catch his breath; he breathes open-mouthed, getting sand in his teeth. He’s gone beyond _cold_ ; he cannot feel fingers or toes or even his own face, but his belly is awash with heat. (Not a good thing, he thinks, but what could he possibly do about it?)

In the distance, the sky rumbles; it almost lightens his mood, until he realizes that he cannot sense the storm. Not the way he’s used to; he’s the God of Thunder, and the static in the air means _nothing_ to him. Even so, he turns and heads toward the sound, as if the storm itself were calling him, his lodestone in a world that offers nothing else but disorientation and pain.

A sudden gust sends him careening to the side, and he steps wrong, unstable stones twisting his knee as he falls. The impact on his broken shoulder is the first time he cries out. Dizzy with agony, he rolls to the other side and tries to push himself up, and his hand finds the stones—no, _bones_ , long and curved. Just barely, he can make them out: the sky is starting to lighten. Dawn, buried in storm clouds.

It’s tempting to rest there, but it would be all too easy to let that be the end of it. If Asgard has turned its back on him, then there is no one to help him; he has to find water, has to find shelter. Get out of the sun before he spends another day in unbearable heat.

Forcing his body back to its feet, on twisted knee and throbbing ankle, is an act of pure will. He has no rage left to give him strength; all his emotions have faded, like the dull grey around him, leaving nothing but the struggle of a life unwilling to give in. Eventually, though, he’s vertical and able to hobble on, his knee crackling with each unstable step.

Despite the low lighting, there are colors dancing in the center of his vision, even when he rubs his eyes with his good hand. They glow and stretch and _vibrate_ , lines and curls, obscuring the little that he could see of the land, except through the blurry edges of his vision.

When the lightning strikes—a flash and

**_BOOM_ **

and an explosion _pelting him_ with spines that sink into his flesh like tiny arrows—he stands there, stunned; there was no _warning_. Even as a child, he knew the lightning like a friend, could feel the patterns, point out where to look. His special gift. Once he’d bonded with Mjolnir, he could direct the storm how he willed.

He’s never known the lightning as a danger, a threat, but suddenly his heart is racing, his instincts telling him to _get away_ , to _take shelter_ , to _hide_ —there’s another flash

**_BOOM_ **

explosion and a sudden _sharp pain in his_ **_eye_** —

Flash

**_BOOM_ **

**_strikes_** the _shoulder_

a _shock_ through his body

muscles _lock up_ and he’s

thrown to the ground

_bouncing_

once.

Lies there, head buzzing, world spinning, dimming around the edges as the sparkles in his vision dance and glow and

fade

a  
way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** More death imagery (bones). Visual migraine. Damage to knee and ankle then to his skin (from a bunch of cactus needles) and eye. Low emotional state, just struggling on. Starts to know the mortal side of fear as an internal physical force. And, of course, to cap things off, he gets struck by lightning, because we all knew this was coming, right?
> 
> At least he got to pass out, this time?
> 
> BTW, I figure a visual migraine counts as "hallucination." It certainly was freaky the two times I had one!
> 
> Dunno when I'll update this, but I do have plans for this series to follow a specific plot archetype, so it should work out to seven entries. The next is Thor getting some help, but it's not gonna be an easy recovery. Gotta batter this poor guy to pieces before he'll be humble enough to take to a little correction. Or so the archetype has it *evilgrin*


End file.
